Chemical Bond
by annajanewrites
Summary: My version of a Clay and Gemma scene in the Season 5 finale. Spoiler alert because it deals with crucial Season 5 storylines. (Disclaimer: Of course, all the SOA characters & everything affiliated with the show belong to the brilliant Mr. Kurt Sutter & FX).


Clay and Juice are still packing up shit in the basement when the doorbell rings, the sound of which reverberates in my ears like a loud siren. I sit paralyzed for a moment at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around the black coffee mug with the Harley logo on it-Clay's favorite. It is still a full cup but I cannot bring myself to drink it-nerves already shot enough.

A knock soon follows and I hear two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. I rise from my chair and make my way towards the door. A hint of nausea stirs in the pit of my stomach, but I remain resolute in my decision. This has to be done.

Clay interrupts my path and catches my eye. There is concern etched on his face. Shit, I think to myself. He knows something's up. It doesn't matter, though. There is no place for him to run. Jax's plan is already in motion. I am the final piece, and I am ready.

He opens the door and allows Roosevelt and another officer to enter the house. I move myself a few paces off to the side of Clay, waiting to be questioned.

"What's going on, Chief?" Clay asks.

"I was hoping you could tell us, Mr. Morrow." Roosevelt shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another, and for a split second I wonder if he's in on it, too.

"We just found Damon Pope gunned down in an empty warehouse off of 18," Roosevelt continues. "Found the gun that did it at the scene, which just so happens to be registered to your name." A cocky half-smile appears on his face. "Now, I'm gonna need you to explain where you've been today."

Clay lets a light laugh escape from his lips.

"I've been here, Chief," he says with a sigh.

"Well," Roosevelt says, "Can anyone confirm that?"

Clay looks to me first. Of course he does.

He nods his head towards Roosevelt. "Tell 'em, Gemma," he commands, and my blood runs cold.

I feel everyone's eyes on me and all I can think is, why do I have to do this to him right to his face? When Jax explained the part he demanded I play to frame Clay, I thought fine, sure, yes he deserves it for everything he's done. But now the silence of the room is hurting my ears and the weight of this task is crushing my chest. I feel exposed, unprepared, not in control. These are things I hate.

"Mrs. Morrow?" Roosevelt's voice echos throughout the house. I know he wants me to turn. He'd love to see Clay burn, the man responsible for the nomads who stupidly killed his wife.

I make the mistake of looking up at Clay. My hesitation to answer Roosevelt is throwing him off. I see genuine fear in his `eyes. In the more than twenty years I've spent as his wife, I cannot remember a time where I've ever seen him afraid. His obvious pain is starting to chip away at my resolve. I can feel the desire to betray him being drained from my heart. Was it ever even there to begin with?

"Yeah," I suddenly state. "He's been here. With me." I take a breath. "All day."

I'm partly in disbelief at the words I just uttered. I think immediately of how Jax will not forgive me.

The pain melts from Clay's face. Against my will, I feel happy for making it disappear.

Roosevelt looks surprised, and then slightly angry, confirming my suspicion that he's in on the con.

"Um," he says. "Okay."

Roosevelt looks at Clay again, his mind searching for a way to recover from the thwarted plan.

"Well, regardless, since it's your gun I'm going to need you to still come down to the station for questioning."

"Fine," Clay says.

Roosevelt's lips thin into a tight line. I see the disappointment washing over him that he will not be taking Clay away in cuffs. "Just make sure you and your wife show up sometime within the hour," he sighs.

I watch Roosevelt and his partner shut the door behind them as they leave. My pulse pounds in my heart, my head, the pads of my wrist-everywhere.

I steal a quick glance at Juice, who is leaning against the wall. The poor thing has such terror in his eyes, fearful of how Jax's wrath will touch us all now that his plan to have Clay arrested has been foiled. But Juice glances back at me for a split second and I see how much he is also relieved.

I finally gather the courage to face Clay. I just stand there, waiting for him to raise his hands at me, beat me to the ground for this too close a call of betrayal.

He reaches out for me instead, uses both strong arms to pull me in and press me close against his chest.

"Jesus, Clay," I choke out. My breath is hard and fast against his neck.

A hurdle of emotions rage within me as my husband slowly rocks my body back and forth. Husband. I had been so sure that I never wanted to refer to him by that title ever again. I promised Jax my duplicity would not be an issue-Clay had this coming. Didn't he? The man has done heinous things.

Clay loosens his embrace and places his hands on my shoulders, distancing me a bit to look in my eyes. I know he has already filled in all of the blanks.

"I couldn't do it," I blurt out, and the tears begin to spill from my eyes.

"I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it." I repeat myself like a prayer. My body is on the verge of complete compulsion. I think I hear Juice stumble out of the room but the blood is flooding my ears too much to be certain.

Clay's hands reach up to cradle my face. "Gemma, baby, calm down," he instructs.

But I can't. I'm sick at the thought of what I almost did, sick with worry over Jax, sick at being caught between my son the president and my husband the outcast.

I am no stranger to messy, but I feel on the edge of disrepair.

"This isn't your fault," Clay says. "It's mine." His eyebrows knit together in agony. "You'd never be in this position if I had done things differently."

"Please don't retaliate against him," I whisper. It's the only thing I can think to say.

"I got no more want for that, Gem," he says. "I told you, baby, you're the only thing that matters to me."

He traces the lines of my face, moves down to grip my fingers, chastely presses his lips to the skin of my hand.

A part of me is still shocked by Clay's softness in this moment. I wait for his anger but it does not come. I forget that I'm supposed to be the angry one. I understand that we have both inflicted damage on each other. I acknowledge that this chemical bond we share is hard to shake.

I realize I do not want to shake it.


End file.
